


Inexplicable Things

by Xanateria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Before Hogwarts, Gen, Hermione's Childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanateria/pseuds/Xanateria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hermione's not surprised when the inexplicable things happen anymore but she's careful to hide them: lights that come on when she needs them, doors unlock, and books somehow stay clean even after she drips tea on them. It’s maddening though: she can’t figure out what makes them happen."</p><p>A picture prompted fic that shows us a small slice of Hermione's childhood. </p><p>See end notes for the pic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inexplicable Things

Hermione's not surprised when the inexplicable things happen anymore but she's careful to hide them. Somehow she's sure her parents wouldn't understand. It's not like it’s ever anything big. Hardly worth mentioning, especially with how they worry.

Lights that come on when she needs them, doors unlock, and books somehow stay clean even after she drips tea on them. It’s maddening though: she can’t figure out what makes them happen. Even if it is her doing, it never shows up when she tries to force it, like when the other children at school are teasing her again for how many of the answers she knows. She doesn’t know how or why it happens or even if it has anything to do with her for certain. At least, that's what she tells herself as she considers the matter since she clearly isn't going to sleep any time soon.

The night is stifling. The white cotton of her nightdress is damp with sweat and she's supposed to be sleeping, but the heat makes her skin prickle, and her hair is a wild mass of tangles that tries to choke her when she rolls over. If she’s not sleeping, she might as well go do something useful. This is the first time they’ve stayed at this vacation house, and she hasn’t had a chance to explore the library. Since she isn’t sleeping, it wouldn’t hurt to go take a quick look.

She argues with her conscience goes on for a few minutes. Then she slides out from under the sheet, and creeps over to the door to listen. There's no sounds from the hallway, so she turns the knob ever so slowly and cracks the door to peer out. The blackness beyond is almost total, but she's never been afraid of the dark.

Hermione hardly dares to breathe as she moves down the hall past her parent's bedroom. Just beyond their door, moonlight spills in through a small window and illuminates the rest of the way to the library. She pauses at the door, to be sure Dad didn't get up to read, like he does when he can't sleep. She hears nothing except the creaking of the house settling.

Satisfied, she opens the door just far enough to slide inside, and carefully closes it behind her before she scuttles over to the farthest corner to turn on a lamp.

The shelves are dark wood, and the heights vary, but the one thing she knows for sure is that this room contains more books than she's ever seen all at once in her life, and she’s been nine for three whole weeks. Dad was quite emphatic that she not be unsupervised in here. Some of them are first editions, others Dad insists are too old for her to see. All of them look valuable; small wonder Dad worries.

She'll be careful; No one will notice. They never have before, though this is by far the biggest library Hermione's managed to sneak into. It's not that she wants to disobey; the idea makes her quite uncomfortable actually but she needs to know. She always needs to know, and the need just keeps getting bigger, like a tiny creek that flows into a rushing river. She tries to ignore it, but that never works. There are just so many things she doesn't understand, and the answers are out there, if she can just read enough books, she'll find them. 

But first she must deal with the problem of what to choose. It's not safe to risk more light, so she can't see all the books, which is a minor annoyance. She moves into the corner closest to the pool of lamplight, and looks over the titles. When her eyes track to a familiar volume, Hermione only barely holds back a squeal of delight. She's always loved Matilda; reading it will be a familiar comfort.

Hidden away in the library, she curls up in the armchair and spends a lovely hour re-reading, before she puts the book down and twirls a lock of hair around her finger as she ponders the latest question that doesn't want to leave her alone.

If Matilda's abilities came down to the power of her mind, why should they be restricted only to her? Mom and Dad always told Hermione how clever she was and made much of the fact that she so enjoys to learn. They like to brag that she has more discipline and determination than most adults.

Logically, that is likely flattery designed to encourage her. That doesn't mean there isn't something to it though. She's got to be almost as clever as Matilda. It would explain a lot of the strange things that happen when Hermione isn’t paying attention.

In the next instant she reminds herself she ought to know better than to hope. That's childish foolishness, and she ought not to indulge in it. 

She’s the sensible one, Mom and Dad tell her so all the time. Fiction has its place but it's still fiction. But a small part of her still wonders, and it gets louder when she tries to ignore it.

It's the middle of the night and no one knows she's here. There's plenty of time before she needs to go back to her bed or risk getting caught. There's no possible harm in one tiny, little experiment. More importantly, there's no one awake to mock the attempt or the failure. She hates being embarrassed more than almost anything, except when mom takes away her library card.

She sets the book on the end table with a soft thump and looks up at the nearest bookshelf. The books are thinner, easier to move, less likely to hurt if they land on her head. 

A deep breath in through her mouth and out through her nose and she narrows her concentration to a specific book, pours all the energy she can muster into seeing it move, float through the air into her lap. She thinks so hard that pain stabs behind her eyes, but nothing happens.

Disappointment clogs her throat, hot and bitter. She should have known, of course she should have. Lots of girls clever. She’s nothing special.

No matter how many times she repeats the phrase, it doesn’t help. Her fists clench and she squares her shoulders. She’s sensible almost all of the time. Mom and Dad aren't here and she isn't hurting anyone or anything (except her head) by trying.

After another few seconds of debate, Hermione gets out of the chair and goes to stand in front of the books. When she stares up at the books, she focuses so hard her whole self shakes. 

She’s about to give up when the book just to the left of her target book rattles, and then four books shake off the shelves and glide toward her. They hover in the air for a moment, while her mouth gapes and she gasps in shock. 

You can trust what you can see, hear, taste, touch or smell: all her books say so. So she blinks just for an instant, then opens her eyes wide. The books still hover in the air. It’s so fantastic, the wonder of it fills her up, warm and wonderful, better than the hot chocolate Mom made her on Christmas morning. She _could_ do it! It is magical, and amazing, and explained so _much_!

Excitement fills her with a giddy lightness, even after the books drop to the floor, first three and then the last one, all so gently you could barely hear the thump.

She has to try again, of course she does. Everyone knows you have to duplicate your results when it comes to proving anything. But no matter how many attempts she makes, the books stay stubbornly on the shelf, except for the four that are already on the carpet. 

They look like perfectly normal books. They lie just as their supposed to, despite the serious face she gives them. After nearly an hour, she puts them back on the shelf, careful to tuck them into their proper spots.

Hermione can feel the flush of excitement and knows she won’t be able to concentrate on more reading tonight. It’s difficult to keep properly quiet when she retraces her steps to return to her room, but she doesn’t want to have to explain herself. Whatever this is, wherever it comes from, she’s not ready to share it yet. Safely back in her own bed, her heart pounds in her ears, and she knows she won’t sleep. 

But that doesn’t matter. For the first time, she made one of the inexplicable things happen on purpose, even if she doesn’t know how she did it or how to control it.

She falls asleep with her mind full of ideas. There has to be a way control it. After all, Matilda learned how things like this happen. And Hermione knows that she’s going to figure it out.

***FIN***

**Author's Note:**

> I was procrastinating online when [this Pin on Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/pin/559994534887764908/)\- a piece of fan art - caught my eye. I don’t know who drew it, but it stuck in my brain. I changed some of the details a bit, but this fic demanded to be written before I could move on to other things. Thanks to NaiyaAzurewater for the usual fast and very thorough beta read. And thanks to Hannahmeghan (on Pinterest) for this one too. If she hadn't pinned the pic, this wouldn't have happened.


End file.
